Bottled Read online

  I take a limping step. “That never used to be a problem. But lately even being Inside doesn’t refresh me all the way. I ache all the time.”

  “You could’ve told me that.” It’s his turn for sharpness. I sense worry behind the bite…and fear. “I hope you’re not sick, or I’m wearing you out. Have I asked for too many wishes, like today’s transporting?”

  “You didn’t ask for that many wishes today.” Transferring is a massive wish in itself, regardless of quantity, but I’m not going to heighten his guilt. At any rate, the cause of our plight isn’t what we need to be focusing on. “Let’s start walking and find out where we are. Your mother will be worried if you’re not back soon.”

  Muttering, Nathan flips his phone open again. “Where’s the moon, anyway? And a few highway lights sure would be nice. Okay, my GPS locator says we’re on, um, a north-south road called ninety-five…which is in—holy mackerel!”

  “I presume this ‘holy mackerel’ isn’t a specific geographic location?”

  “No.” His light shakes as he holds his phone. “We’re in Idaho, Adeelah. Clear across Oregon and partway into Idaho. I can’t believe it. How will we get back in time?”

  I try to speak, but my mouth is desert-dry. Karim will be waiting Monday morning for me to arrive and reveal my bottle’s location. If I’m not there, Faruq will be in a murderous fury and hunt us down. We’ll only get one chance to carry out this plan.

  “Don’t panic,” I say. “We have over a day left. As long as we relocate my bottle before nine o’clock on Monday, we’ll be fine.”

  “No. Think about what just happened. You won’t be able to transport to see him. I’m not letting you aim for The Bahamas and end up treading water in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico.”

  I hadn’t thought of that. A rising headache stabs me in my temples. I utter a string of curse words and wipe sweaty palms on my jeans. “I’m sorry. That exclamation wasn’t ladylike.”

  “I forgive you.”

  I have no idea why there’s the sound of amusement behind his words.

  “You could call Karim instead of meeting him in person,” he says. “Do you know his phone number?”

  “I didn’t think to ask.” There was no need, since I assumed I would transfer. “Perhaps we can get his contact information by wishing on your phone.”

  “Maybe. Look, it’s one o’clock in the morning,” he says. “I’ll text Mom and tell her we went to Coos Bay to see a movie and the Mustang broke down. No, wait, it has to be farther away than that or she’ll want to come fetch us. I’ll say we went sightseeing up the coast to Newport. She’ll still flip and fuss, but it’s better than telling her we’re stranded in Idaho.”

  “If you must, then do so.” I watch him tap away on his phone. The light illuminates him under his chin and makes him appear more than a little disturbing.

  He gives a final tap. “All sent. If we walk south to Lewiston, maybe we can take a bus or train back to Oregon.”

  “You could drive a car instead. That would be faster and easier. Perhaps I could conjure one of those. That would use less of my power than a transfer.”

  “I don’t want to wear you out. Or put you through more aches and pains.”

  I huff. “And I don’t want you dead if we don’t get my bottle to Faruq in time. You need to wish for a car this instant, so you can start driving.”

  “Let’s check it out first.” He taps around on his phone. “This site says by car it’s about a ten-hour trip to Bandon from Lewiston, which we’re fairly close to. We’ll make it with time to spare, but it’ll be a long, brutal trip.”

  “Make the wish. I’m ready.”

  “No, you’re not. And neither am I. We’ve been hiking in the mountains all day, we’re bashed up from being dumped onto the highway, and you just used a ton of energy transporting.”

  “Transferring.”

  “What?”

  “It’s called transferring. You keep calling it transporting, which is incorrect.”

  He throws me a not-too-patient expression.

  “I should at least attempt to form a car.” I give him my best beseeching look. As he rolls his eyes, a distant whir reaches my ears. It’s originating from down the road. An engine noise. “Someone’s coming. Maybe we can ride with this person until you permit us to have a vehicle of our own.”

  “It’s not safe to hitchhike, especially in the middle of the night.”

  Grumbling, I follow him back into the ditch. His phone light winks out as bigger lights flare on the hill. A car approaches and whooshes past, its wheels humming on the pavement. Night envelops us once again. The cricket chorus resumes.

  “Now what?” I ask. “Do we shuffle along in the dark to the next city or sleep in this ditch until dawn while I rest?”

  Nathan groans. “Fine, I’ll let you try to whip up a car. But it’s too dangerous to make one materialize in the middle of the road. Let’s walk first and see if we can find a turnout or a wider spot. I can’t use my phone light too long, though, or the battery will conk out.”

  I frown. Batteries seem like such fragile things.

  We leave the ditch and stumble along the roadside, me first with Nathan following a short distance behind so we don’t bump into each other. He gives me his phone. I squint in the path of its feeble light and test the way with my feet. My knee injury causes me to hobble, slowing me down. Nathan’s anxious concern laps like black water against my spine.

  After about a half-hour, gravel crunches under my feet. “I think this is a wider spot.”

  Nathan retrieves his phone and swings the light around. “Kind of narrow, but it’ll do. Try for something economical on gas, if you can.”

  “As you wish.” Whatever type of vehicle that is, his wish-thoughts will provide the details. I inhale and gather my energy, trying not to rush myself. Energy flows down my raised arms and out my fingers. Metal doors coalesce. Windows shimmer. Seat cushions arise like giant mushrooms in the semi-darkness. I strain against a slight resistance as well as a dull pain that throbs through my bones. Rubbery tires emerge to support the metal framework. Blue paint. My arms start to tremble as I add a silver key. Am I finished? It’s difficult to tell.

  I lower my arms, perspiration prickling my entire body. Exhaustion floods me. I collapse to the ground, sitting hard on rough gravel. “Done,” I say, out of breath.

  “Are you okay?” Nathan tips his light toward me.

  My head swims. “I’m…tired.”

  “Let’s get you in the car. We should both sleep for a few hours. I’ll set my phone alarm and you can lie down in the back seat.”

  His feet crunch across the gravel. A door creaks opens. He returns. “Come on, Adeelah. The car’s just a few feet away. Man, I can’t even help you get up. See if you can make it there.”

  I toss a glance at the shadowy vehicle. It looks miles away.

  “You can do it.” His voice is close to my ear, infusing willpower into my brain.

  Refuge. Sleep. They’re available, if I can reach them. I twist and manage to get my feet under me.

  “That’s it, come on!” His hands hover around my waist as if he wants to support me.

  I stand, swaying. His words buoy me, push me forward. Maybe he’s wishing this to happen. I take a few unsteady steps.

  His voice strokes the air, soft as velvet. “Just a couple more feet. You’re almost there.”

  The car door catches me when I lunge for it. I cling to its solidness. My head thumps against metal, and the pain jerks me into a last effort to move.

  I fall inside.

  Nathan slams the door near my feet, and the car bounces a little as he gets into the front. “Thanks for the ‘motel,’ Adeelah.” Weary relief saturates his words.

  Heavy layers of slumber press upon me. I sink fast, falling toward a deep nothingness.

  The last thing I hear is the click of the locks as he secures us inside.

  * * *

  Dreamy, lovely. In the memories of my
mind, I’m floating along in the sweet liquid coolness of the outdoor pond. I kick my legs and make lazy circles with my arms. I could swim here for hours, until my skin shrivels into wrinkles like a dried fig. Karim’s lucky to have a private pool of water like this on his estate. His father, brooding irksome man that he is, claims I’ve overstayed my welcome, but for some reason Karim is reluctant to let me go. And for the most part what Karim wants, his father grants.

  I’m glad Karim is unwilling for me to move on. He fascinates me, draws me to him like a child lured to a forbidden sweet.

  Besides, where else would I go now that I have no family?

  I flutter my arms in the water. Remembrances of curdled screams invade my mind’s ear, and I scrunch my eyes closed. Oh, stars above. Jamaal is gone. Murdered in one chilling instant. All my brothers and sisters are dead, along with Abbi and Omaa. Too often when I’m alone like this, I see scimitars slash and sand fly. I hear camels braying and marauders’ horses snorting like dragons. These things haunt my soul.

  The water isn’t as refreshing as it was moments ago. I emerge from the pond, wiping my eyes against my tear flow. My dress clings to my skin, my unbound hair drips dark and coiled like a sea creature’s. I start to pad barefoot down the path to the guest room, and gasp as I discover someone is standing against a nearby tree.

  Karim. He loiters there, lean-muscled and achingly handsome in his deep blue trousers and gold-embroidered tunic. One arm is white-swathed, still bandaged. He was watching me swim. I can’t decide whether I want to shrivel from mortification or dance with joy.

  He walks up to where I stand. His deep brown eyes are tender, more so than I’ve ever seen them. The fragrant spring air eddies around us. He’s so warm, so close. Closer than I’ve ever been to him before, except for when I hauled his injured body onto his horse, and later as I mopped his feverish brow and he was barely aware of my presence. My heart flutters.

  He brushes a tear from my cheek, and to my surprise, he bends and kisses a second tear from the opposite side of my face. His lips are soft and magical on my skin.

  “Oh!” I whisper.

  “I hate to see such sadness,” he murmurs. One by one, he kisses the rest of my tears from my face. He reaches my lips last. Our kiss is short and light at first…then longer and more pressing. His good arm encircles my waist and draws me toward him.

  A bellow interrupts us. We flinch, breaking apart. I spin to see his father striding up the path. Faruq’s outrage fuels the air, sets it on fire. He’s here to destroy my newfound joy. The scene warps as his shouts transform into sharp rocks that fly out to hit me, trying to shred me to ribbons. I scream as everything around us shatters. Karim’s face is scarred, ruined. He’s changed forever by his father. Where is Karim’s courage now? I fear it’s gone for good. Blood soaks his arm bandage and drips into a metal bucket.

  Plink. Plink. Many souls will die soon, drained of their blood. Perhaps Karim will die too, mangled in a chance accident or random twist of fate.

  I’m powerless to help him, powerless to help the others.

  “Karim!” I call out.

  I awaken with a start, struggling for breath, not knowing where I am. I’m no longer experiencing a dream of Karim’s first kiss, and I’m not being destroyed in a nightmare version of his father’s anger. Instead, I’m lying on a wide seat that faces the backs of other seats. Windows frame me. Ah, that’s right. I’m in a car with Nathan, stranded in Idaho. Everything is quiet except for the sounds of Nathan breathing. I can’t see anything except a shadowy sky beyond the glass.

  A sleepy voice comes from the other side of the seat. “You okay back there?”

  “Er, yes. Thank you.” I’m surprised my bottle allows me to answer that way. Perhaps I am all right, more than I think. Or maybe I’m so weakened and far from my bottle I can sneak in a faint lie.

  “Bad dream?”

  He always needs to know everything. “What time is it?”

  A grunt. A flash of his phone light. “About four-thirty. Guess we could get going. The alarm’s about to go off anyway.”

  I push myself upright. I’m groggy, though not as stark-bone-tired as earlier. My pain level has receded to a blunt edge. My knee scrape is crusted over. When Nathan unlocks the doors, I get out, trudge to the front, and sink into the seat beside him.

  “Let’s blast outta here,” Nathan says. “We can stop for a quick breakfast in Lewiston.”

  “I can conjure you some—”

  “No, you won’t. You’re only conjuring emergency stuff, to conserve your energy. I’ll buy food like a normal human being, thank you very much.”

  How exasperating I can’t fulfill his wishes as I should. Although it makes logical sense to refrain. I strap myself in as he turns the key in its slot.

  Nothing happens except a hollow click. Not even the slightest whir or chugging.

  “That’s not good.” He tries again. Nothing except the click.

  He pops a lever to open the front of the car, and we get out to inspect the problem with his phone light. I gape as he swings the huge metal lid upward. Sands of Arabia, no. It can’t be. With the exception of a few dangling hoses and a narrow metal tank, the entire space is empty.

  Chapter 17

  Nathan wheezes. “There’s no engine in here! Just the radiator and heater hoses.”

  I can’t believe it. I’ve failed with the car, too. “I’m sorry. I was so tired. I’ll finish the rest now.”

  He pins me with a concerned frown. “You might not be up to it.”

  “I’m more refreshed than I was before.”

  His frown deepens. “I have a feeling that’s not saying much.” He leaves the vehicle lid open but flicks off his light. I guess he’s conserving the phone batteries. “Go ahead, then.”

  I draw in a huge breath and begin. Shapes flicker. Thick metal arises under my fingertips. Intricate tangles of hoses and wires settle into more organized placements. When I’m finished, it’s as though the mechanical parts have been wrung out of me like drops of water from an old, damp cloth. When I murmur that I’m done, Nathan flicks the light back on.

  “Loads better,” he says.

  Bracing myself against the car frame, I stay while he jumps back into the car and tries the key. I almost weep when the complex mess before me rumbles to life, chugging greasy, rubbery smells into my nostrils. I slam the lid and trudge to the front car door.

  “No, get in the back and sleep some more while I drive,” Nathan says.

  I don’t argue. I slip into the seat behind him, and crash into an immediate, deep sleep.

  When I awaken again, sun glares through the windows. The tires buzz under me, as though giant bees are carrying us to Bandon. Aching yet feeling more rested, I stretch and sit up.

  Nathan meets my eye in the rear mirror. “Good afternoon. We’ve crossed into Oregon already. I got breakfast in Lewiston, and a few hours ago I stopped for gas. You were totally out of it, so I didn’t wake you.”

  “It’s afternoon?” I’ve slept an incredible stretch. More than five hours.

  “Yep.” He hands me a bag over the seat. “I know you don’t have to eat, but I got you a bagel and some juice in case they give you extra energy.”

  I peek into the bag. An aroma of flour and yeast sifts up. The juice is labeled as pomegranate-kiwi. A smile flits onto my face.

  “I also got you this.” The back of his neck goes pink as he reaches for something else. “It’s um, a goodbye present. To remember me by.”

  A brown fuzzy shape rises over the seat. I take it from his hand. The present has round ears and a bright yellow bow at its neck. It’s a small bear, similar to the Hugmee except less worn. Curved arms, pointed snout, and shiny black eyes. The gift makes me want to burst into tears, but I clutch it to my chest and take a few calming breaths.

  “Thank you, Nathan,” I manage to say after a moment. “It’s perfect.”

  “I know you liked the one at the shop…”

  I let the silence con
tinue after he trails off, at a loss as how to respond. Heavens, I’m fragile and emotional today. I need the deeper restoration powers of my bottle. I’d like to go to it right now, but I won’t be able to get back to Nathan if I do, since my bottle remains at the YMCA. He might need my help here—as broken and deficient as that help is at the moment. And since our time as master-and-genie is short, I want to enjoy his company for as long as I can.

  I tuck the bear against my side, and consume my bagel and juice. Trees, pavement, and other cars zip past the windows. There are no towns. Just never-ending shades of green flanking the mountain roads. I let the scenery go by, and contemplate calling my bear “Nathan.”

  Or possibly “Wefler.”

  Yes. Wefler. That’s an apt name. The bear is, after all, the color of chocolate.

  Nathan produces a noisy, cavernous yawn. “Ugh. I need some caffeine to get me through the next four or five hours. We’ll stop in Portland. I have to check the car out anyway since it’s running rough. We should get into Bandon around six.”

  “Oh no—Beagley and Cherie!” I say. “We were supposed to meet them at one o’clock.”

  “No worries. I called Beagley at breakfast and told him we’d see him when we got into town. Broke the news that you were moving, too.” He adds the last part in a solemn voice.

  “How did he react?”

  “Bummed. Cherie was with him, acting disgusted he was taking it so hard.”

  “I don’t think I’m her favorite person.” Which I understand. I’m between her and two of her best friends. She’s protective—and possessive—of them both.

  “I’m sure she likes you well enough,” Nathan says.

  “And I think you’re a hopeless optimist who may not be quite grounded in reality. Perhaps you should be more cynical if you wish to become a counselor of humans.”

  He chuckles. We drive for a while without speaking. The endless greens continue to blur by my window.

  “I still can’t figure out how you fit into that bottle of yours,” Nathan says. “Is it huge inside, like some kind of magically expanding space?”